


Breathe Me In (And Let Me Stay)

by DammitDameron, HJMoriarty



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Order, Gingerpilot, M/M, Probably Against Regulation, Secret Relationship, Top Poe Dameron
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-09-28 20:04:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17189510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DammitDameron/pseuds/DammitDameron, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HJMoriarty/pseuds/HJMoriarty
Summary: ~ “There’s a rumor,” the informant murmured. “An Admiral. Guy came outta nowhere. Some kid. People say that all his superiors disappear soon after he comes along. He’s smart. Scary. Tech-genius. Strategist. He gets to General, and the war is over. He ain’t got a name. No one knows ‘im. But they call ‘im Hellfire.” ~A mission gone awry lands a young Armitage Hux, in the heart of the Resistance - surrounded by the enemy and left to stand toe-to-toe with Commander Poe Dameron. With a new era of leadership brewing on the horizon for the First Order and uncertainty raining down upon the Resistance, the two opposing leaders might just make the perfect storm.





	1. Dance of the Skies and Stars

A sea of rugged faces and crooked lips splashed together in a lone cantina. There, smuggled information flowed as freely as liquor. Grumbles gave way to intel. Murmurs spread rumors. Bit by bit, a puzzle came together, edges aligning and picture forming from a scrambled jumble of whispers. Random bits of data that could be turned into something far more valuable: Knowledge.

And in war, that very thing could bring about a staggering victory or deafening defeat.

Golden mounds of sand covered the desert world of Jakku, stretching out for miles upon miles in all directions. Why anyone would call such a desolate and dirty place home was a mystery that most of the galaxy would never solve. In the middle of a dusty town, a tavern buzzed with words and coin. A trading post. A place to hand off what one heard for something shiny. Resistance, First Order... It didn't matter, so long as those willing to talk were given their dues.

“You Dameron?” A gruff voice harrumphed as a wayward pilot made himself known. “Heard a whole lot about you.”

The wall of a man was nearly as wide as he was tall, looking down a bulbous nose at the rebel who approached his side of the bar. He was a being that exuded slime. An undergrowth of a creature that thrived in the sewers of humanity.

Simply put, he was perfectly at home in such a dingy place.

A man, a Commander, with scruffy facial hair and dark depths for eyes dropped down into a rickety chair, not minding the way the worn wood swayed beneath his sudden weight or the ominous creak that accompanied it. The bar he found himself in was less than satisfactory and, for even a man who had frequented bars in the past, was not one that he would willingly return to anytime soon.

“Yeah,” the Commander responded in a way that hinted at the fact that he did not want to dwell upon his identity any longer than necessary. “Look. I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

The response was straight to business - which was, admittedly, something Poe did not excel at. Given the circumstances, however, he thought it would be best.

“I have an idea,” the larger male drawled, fingers tapping idly on the counter between them.

A thick brow quirked as Poe took in the sight of the other male. He was a glob. Something that was more expected to be found under a sink than as a patron in a bar. “Heard there’s whispers of brewing on the other side of--”

“Credits first. Information to follow.”

The growled words served as a warning, but Poe did not heed it as such. “That’s not how this works, Amigo.”

“It’s how this will work,” the informant replied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before he set his beer aside. “Look. Ya want information on the General? It don’t matter. Ya got bigger threats comin’.” That was all that was said as another flask was set down on the table for the man to begin guzzling. “But information like that is gonna cost ya.”

“You’ve basically just summarized what I already know,” Dameron grumbled, hand shooting out, suddenly, to steal the drink before the informant could finish it.

It was obvious that something had changed. Some unforeseen shift in the First Order that rippled through the galaxy and shuffled constellations. It was what led Poe to go against his own leader's direct wishes to, instead, seek out more information on his own. On his own credit. From his own pocket.

As he took a long, much needed swig of the bitter liquid, the Commander reached into his pocket to pull out a couple credits, dropping them in front of the sleazy mound of information. “Talk.”

“There’s a rumor. A… A storm brewin’,” the informant murmured, pulling the money over to his side of the bar. “An Admiral. Guy came outta nowhere. Some kid. People say that all his superiors disappear soon after he comes along.” A pause, beady eyes running up and down the pilot before them. Their gaze tracked each micro-expression that moved over Poe’s face before the slurred words continued. “He’s smart. Scary. Tech-genius. Strategist. People say he’s the next Tarkin, but less than half his age. He gets to General, and the war is over.” A drink was taken, though most of the beer fell down the man’s bluish, gelatinous chin. “He ain’t got a name. No one knows ‘im. But they call ‘im Hellfire.”

There was a long, drawn out moment of silence as dark eyes took in the man before him. A moment later, though, and the pilot scoffed, then snorted a laugh of amusement. “Hellfire? Really? Wow… You’re wasting my time,” Dameron gave his eyes a roll, then reached forward to snatch his credits back up. “Next time, you better have real information for me. Something at least kinda useful. Got it?”

A rough hand suddenly grabbed Poe’s arm as the informant rose from his position to loom over the man. “Ya know, Dameron, you don’t pay worth shit compared to the bounty the First Order 'as on your head.”

The disturbance cause a murmur to rush through the tavern. From across the area, an icy gaze flicked across the crowd. When nothing more happened, Armitage Hux focused his attention back to the woman sitting across from him.

An Admiral, Armitage was a man who cared little for the losses faced in war or people whose flame flickered out. He viewed each man or woman he came across as a puzzle - a new riddle to unfurl to reveal their worth. Nothing more than puzzle boxes, mind games, word plays, etc. all dressed in flesh and blood. Young and lithe of limb, his skin was as pale as ash and his hair was like flame. A spark. A living blaze waiting for his chance to engulf the galaxy. To light the stars in a grand pyre and watch as all those who opposed him burned. He was born for greatness. For power. He was brought to life to unite the planets and people across the cosmos. To instill a new order. A new reign.

And all those people he stepped on to get to that place of power were of little consequence. He could breed an army. He didn't need free spirited fools. Not when he had already taken to the shadows for power. Dealt his cards out of sight and out of mind of his superiors.

“Go on,” Hux prompted the Resistance traitor he had been sent to meet with. “Where is the New Republic?”

“They--Did you hear that? Who’s over there?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Did they say Dameron?”

Before any response could be made by the Admiral, Dameron’s fist reeled back, ready to swing. The informant he was dealing with, however, was one step ahead of him and had his blaster ready and willing to fire.

“Alright, alright, Compadre,” Poe grumbled, hands shooting up before him in surrender. “It’s not my fault you come to me with this bantha-shit. My time doesn’t come cheap, alright? And you come here, spouting off this shit about Hell--”

A click of the blaster, and Poe fell silent, once more.

“Kriff!” The Resistance traitor jerked back and away from Hux where they were sitting, pulling her collar up as though it might help her hide away from the Commander she had betrayed. “Did you know about this? You--”

“The New Republic. Where is it?” Hux demanded, drawing his own blaster.

The moment the weapon appeared, however, the world suddenly went spinning into wild motion.

Though, the catalyst could have also very easily been the way the traitor went falling from her seat and to the floor in her hurry to avoid confronting her last leader, knocking one man into another and causing a tray of drinks to go shattering to the floor. The sound of the broken glass drew attention, as did the sudden punch that brought about the beginning of a bar fight stemming from spilled sips.

Armitage received a hard shove, sending him staggering for a moment. As he righted himself, his gaze fell upon the traitor as she rushed away. One shot was taken, hitting the woman in the shoulder, before the weapon was smacked from his hand by someone attempting to use it as well.

The brawl surged like gasoline thrown onto an open flame - fists were flying and connecting with anything or anyone that they could. Like a domino effect, one hit or shove led to the next, until the entire pub was involved. Getting pushed to the side, Dameron stumbled a few steps as his hand lifted to cup a bruised cheek. From where he rested, dark eyes landed upon a frail-looking man being shoved around. 

Or, perhaps more aptly: dark eyes landed upon a thin man. Not necessarily 'frail', per se.

But definitely a man that did not need to be in the middle of a worsening brawl between drunken pub patrons, Poe decided. Shoving his way through the crowd, he swung hard at a man who came barreling toward him before he finally was able to reach out to grab a slender shoulder, forcing the endangered man back and away from the conflict. As he jerked his thumb in the direction of a semi-clear path leading out of the tavern, the Commander shouted over the noise, "Get outta here, kid!"

Kid. The term was something akin to demeaning when associated with a man of such rank as the ginger - albeit undercover at the moment. A scowl formed upon full, rose-kissed lips before the Admiral broke free of the hold. The newcomer was a mess. Hair unkept and clothes wrinkled and lined in ways that suggested they had been slept in. Worked in. Simply not washed for far too long.

A rebel, then, the Admiral deduced. Scum.

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” Hux had been doing so since he was only ten years old, after all. He was self-made. A veritable phoenix that rose from the ashes of his past, including his family and everything that once shackled him and caged his true potential. All those whispering ghosts of his past that he burned and cast out.

Armitage went to say more, though stopped short a moment before jade eyes widened and he suddenly ducked - narrowly avoiding the bottle that came soaring through the air in their direction.

The sound of glass shattering on the wall beside the odd pair was drown out by the bellowing of, “DAMERON!!”

Poe gasped and suddenly grabbed the man’s arm once more to give it a little tug. Then a harder one. When that didn't work, he simply dragged Hux away from another potentially fatal move made by the blubbery informant he had just stiffed for the less-than-useful information that was given to him.

'Hellfire.' What was that even supposed to mean?

Giving the redhead a shove, Poe managed to get them out of the way before a knot of brawling bodies hit the ground where they had been standing. The push, unfortunately, had the ginger slammed into a wall - perhaps not the greatest rescue attempt ever staged, but Poe _was_ improvising. “You alright, kid?”

“Get off me!” Armitage snapped as he shoved the rebel away - snarl firmly on his lips as he reached down to draw the pilot’s blaster from where it had yet to be unsheathed.

One shot knocked the a blunt weapon from the hands of their closest assailant. Another shot had a hole burned in a keg of beer, dousing the bulbous informant in alcohol. A third shot, and the liquor was engulfed in flames.

Useless men, disorderly men, had no place in the life of the ginger.

With that, Hux spun on his heel, his newly-acquired blaster suddenly coated in the white foam of a fire extinguisher as the owner of the tavern attempted to put out the flames licking all around his customer - tasting his skin with its golden-orange glow and beckoning him into its blazing jaws.

Blaster discarded as it malfunctioned - pitiful, old Resistance technology - the Admiral stepped back into the crowd of fighters in order to try to get a glimpse of the traitor he had come to meet, but she was gone. Escaped. A mission failed because of some boisterous pilot.

“Hey!” A bellow cut through the air as a large, blue-toned hand suddenly gripped the back of Armitage’s undercover civilian shirt and gave it a swift tug.

Unbalanced and staggered, the Admiral attempted to regain his footing before the oaf of a alien informant suddenly dragged him off the ground with his heavy hold upon the dressed-down disguise worn by the First Order officer.

“You set me on fire.”

“An astute observation," Hux grumbled.

“Ey, let the kid go! You’ve got no beef with him! He’s probably not even old enough to be in here," Poe stepped forward out from the throng of bar fighters. Ever the hero - or, perhaps, that was just in his mind - his fingers itched for the hidden blaster tucked under his belt.

This was no longer an attempt to get a young guy out of the line of fire. This kid had raw talent. He was daring. He was bold. He would be a damn fine addition to the Resistance, if only Poe could keep them both alive long enough to get them there.

“Look. All of this is over a few measly credits, right?” One hand slowly lowered, fingers wiggling, as the pilot made show that he was going for the credits in his pocket. “Let me pay you what I owe you, and we’ll call it even.”

“Double or--”

A sudden twist gave Hux the advantage he needed to jam his elbow into the man’s throat. Wind knocked from him and breath wheezing, the ogre dropped his damsel in distress. The ginger reacted instantly once he was back on his feet, darting away from the man to get out of Dameron’s line of fire, should he decide to take the shot. Instead of waiting to see what might happen, he bolted.

The information was lost. The mission was over.

Perfect record tarnished, the ginger would simply have to find another way to get close enough to his final superior - the General of the First Order - to make his move. He just needed to be transferred to the General’s ship and his crown would be within reach. A deal made in the dark underbelly of the galaxy giving Hux all the power he needed to take the stars by force.

A Supreme Leader and an apprentice, just waiting to be brought in to aid his reign.

Granted, it was two more people he would need to eliminate when the time arose, but that could be done after he had their trust. Their loyalty. Their blind eye.

He would turn this stale rendition of the Empire into a war machine. A force unlike the galaxy had ever known before. The true First Order, in all its glory.

 _His_ order.

First, though, he needed to escape before everyone knew who he was.

“Hey! Wait!” Running after the young male, Dameron wiped the blood from his blaster off on the fabric of his pantleg. He got the information he needed - as useless as it was - and got away without needing to pay for it. All in all, he would count that as a success. “Kid!! Stop! I need to ask you--”

A long stride and a reach forward had Poe grabbing the man’s arm, once more, and tugging him backward into a halt. It was, perhaps, only because of the way the sand made it impossible for Armitage to lengthen his stride and get a solid footing that the scum caught up to him, but that made little difference now that he was caught.

“Your skill--that was--have you considered--Look. Have you ever thought about joining something much larger than you could ever imagine? Being a part of change? And protecting this galaxy? I could--Stop trying to run, dammit! I’m talking to you, kid!” Poe huffed, as the redhead struggled against him. Perhaps he was scared, or the adrenaline pumping through his veins demanded fight or flight.

“Yes, I have. Quite often, really,” Hux replied as he pulled free once more. He hated being touched. Years of hits and kicks and slaps turning him as far away from human contact as he could get. A child, many would agree, wanted hugs, not hurt. Adoration, not abuse. But he was born in war. Forged in the furnaces of Arkanis to be a soldier. A conqueror. A viking in the cosmos. “I’m perfectly capable of standing up without your hands on me,” he snapped when Dameron reached toward him once more. “Now, if you don’t mind--”

“There he is!” A group of ruffians appeared, pointing in the direction of the pair.

Whether they were gesturing toward the rebel or First Order officer was of little consequence when they suddenly drew their blasters and opened fire - raining shots down around the duo in a barrage that had them running full speed in the opposite direction.

A little further and Hux could jump into his TIE Fighter and leave the planet for good. Mark the cursed desert as a place he would never in his life return to and make sure that Jakku was later wiped from the galaxy. Left to be nothing but a bit of stardust that no one remembered.

Portions and all.

Poe was not expecting any sort of air attack. His mind was focused only on the intriguing stranger and the laser bullets hitting the sand at their feet. But he should not have let his guard down when dealing with criminals. As one thick beam shot down from a cannon blaster, Dameron barely had enough time to react. The ground in front of him exploded, causing him to stumble back and allow the next shot to charge.

“Kid! Wait!!" Poe jumped to the side, then slid along the ground before he skidded to a stop, his leather jacket ripped, but otherwise intact. Was the move strictly necessary? Perhaps not. But he was showing off, even if the other man didn't receive it. “Come on! The Resistance can use your skill!” Poe called out, hopefully not to a charred corpse, “We can give you the galaxy! Just--Fuck! Let me show you!”

'Join the Resistance. Defeat the First Order.'

The propaganda was everywhere.

But it had never been so erroneously targeted than in that moment with Armitage Hux. His family started this war. They commercialized it. His blood fueled the greatest soldiers the galaxy had ever known. Skilled and lethal.

Another airstrike. The very air sizzled as the redhead was knocked to the soot-covered ground. What once was a TIE Fighter, was now nothing more than broken, scorched metal. He coughed, smoke filling his lungs and suffocating him as he desperately tried to draw in a solid breath.

No ship.

No ship meant no contact. No tracker in his common clothes. No communication. No transmission.

He was just an Admiral plotting a mutiny against the First Order to become a General. _The_ General.

Pushing himself back to his feet, Hux slid across the heated sand to rest beside the Commander. He glanced around, looking for any sign of another oncoming attack. "Your ship. Is it intact?”

For a split moment, Poe was prepared to argue that this stranger with blazing hair and sharp eyes could not have his ship. But, upon second thought, a wicked smirk spread over chapped lips as Dameron’s gaze leveled upon the redhead beneath a veil of thick lashes. With no more than a nod of the head later, Poe grabbed the man’s hand, pushed himself up, and took off running, once more - hardly allowing the younger time to properly get up and follow after him.

"Let go of my hand!" Armitage growled.

At his own ship - a shuttle, not his prized X-Wing - Dameron lowered the ramp and instantly ran aboard. “Buckle in. I’ll get us back to base, but it will not be a smooth ride. We--C’mon!! I wanted to be off the ground three seconds ago!”

“I’m moving, aren’t I?” Hux snapped back, barely sitting down before they were rocketing off the sand and into the air. He toppled out of his seat upon a sharp turn that transitioned immediately into a barrel roll. The pilot was utterly mad. Bonkers. Suicidal, maybe, with how reckless he was in the air and how close he came to enemy ships at the very beginning of their aerial battle. Back in his seat, the ginger took up command of the sensors, reading off the coordinates and approaching threats. “Two on your right. One on your left wing,” he reported.

“I got it,” Poe snapped, rolling the ship in an expert show of command to shoot the assailant from the sky. When the other man opened his mouth to say something, Poe instantly cut him off with another, “I got it!! Let me do my job! I don’t need a copilot!”

Dameron was the best pilot around.

Resistance. First Order.

It didn’t matter. He took to the skies, the stars and anywhere in between and he owned them. He made them his own, and was utterly unmatched once sitting in a cockpit. He didn’t need some… _Teenager_ telling him what to do.

Teenager? 

Twenty-something?

Young.

Hux was young. Far younger than anyone who had ever gotten to his current rank. It caused discontent with those officers around him who saw his lack of adult years as inexperience, rather than a place for innovation or a new era. A bright young mind that would only grow sharper and more skilled as he took the helm.

Poe may be the lord of the skies.

But Armitage was a titan. A being of unmatched mind and power. He just needed to tap into it.

“Left!” Hux called out, the shuttle shuddering for a moment before they were suddenly swerving and flying upside down, right above the enemy ship.

The attacker only had the time to look up before his ship burst into flames.

And while that was admittedly an effective technique, Hux refused to praise a man who was less of a hero and more of a danger to himself and others.

“You can drop me off at any neutral planet and I’ll find my own way.” A blink, and then they were traveling at hyperspeed. Frozen pools of jade and silver frosting over, the redhead focused on the Commander beside him. “...What are you doing?”

There was no answer. Nothing more than the star pilot’s signature smirk as it spread over his lips and twinkled something akin to mischief in his gaze. But when the ship began to lower down onto the tarmac of the Resistance base, the answer became quite clear.

He was recruiting this redhead.

Whether Hux wanted him to, or not.


	2. The Beginning Notes

In the Resistance, Poe was something akin to a king. Charming and courageous, people followed him. Flocked to him. It was one of the many reasons that his personality contained such copious amounts of cockiness.

That said, it had been a struggle to get Hux out of the shuttle when they landed. It reminded the pilot of the time that he promised to help a friend bathe their cat. There was clawing and hissing and, he was fairly certain, a few bites here and there. But, in the end, it was done. 

“You’ve got skill, kid. Room for improvement, of course. But, with some serious training, I think you’ve got what it takes to be on my squad. Gotta see you in the cockpit and in control, but… We’ll get there.” When Poe turned to offer his new recruit a smile, his expression completely shifted and hardened. The guy did _not_ look impressed. “I can offer you an entire world, kid. If you join us, you will become a part of something bigger than anything you’ve ever seen before. You will be helping bring peace to this galaxy once and for all. You’ll be a hero. People will speak your--What’s your name..?”

Hux was already on his way of doing exactly what Dameron described. To be bigger than himself, though not in the same way that Poe was thinking. Peace was bred in order. When the politicians stopped bickering and corruption had no way to enter government. When everyone was equalized through uniformity. Not through a terrorist organization parading around as a revolution. A rebellion against the dark side.

“And you would know what it means to be a hero? A man in a seedy bar paying for information? You obviously are leaps and bounds ahead of us common men who would rather use our own merit to succeed.” Granted, the Admiral had been doing the same thing. “I’m not joining the Resistance.”

“First off," Poe replied with a furrow to his brow, "I didn’t _pay_ for any information. Thank you. Second, you were there, too, at a bar specifically meant for trading of information. So, unless you _really_ don’t have any taste in where you get a drink from, then I am assuming your reasoning to be there was rather similar. C'mon, follow me and I’ll show you around."

Hux gave only one thought to the idea of turning around and stealing the rickety shuttle he had been kidnapped in before realizing and accepting that he was currently surrounded by the entire enemy fleet. He wasn’t known. Not yet. One day his name would be written down for all of time, immortalized as the man who conquered the galaxy and did something that no one believed was possible.

But, right then, he was a sitting duck in the middle of the Resistance base. The only thing that was keeping him alive and out of a cell was his unknown nature. Though he yearned to be recognized and forever remembered, drawing attention to himself with a failed escape attempt and causing people to question his identity and allegiances would not be wise. So, the slighter male clenched his jaw and strode beside Poe through the sunny day. Fiery locks caught the light, igniting like embers upon dying coal and drawing the gazes of everyone nearby.

A beacon.

One day, perhaps, a warning. A reputation wrapped up in gelled strands and combed hair.

As jade eyes glanced about, Hux sneered. The people who made up the Resistance were a pitiful breed. Broken toy soldiers still desperate to be played with. They were rugged and without uniform. Without standard. A ragtag group, they scrounged together whatever technology and ships that they could find. Junkyard pieces fit for scrap metal and nothing more. Likewise, their computers ran as slowly as their strategic team. Their droids were as rusty as their tactics. Their leadership was--

“Commander.”

\--Right behind them.

“Leia!” Whipping around, grin wide, Dameron was ready to plead his case, but an elegant, aged hand was lifted to silence the man from saying anything further.

“We have protocol, Commander. Set in place. For a _reason_ ,” Leia started, voice soft but full of authority. A tone used mostly around Poe, who had become like a second son to her. Second, never replacing, for, sadly, the former princess held nothing but hope within her that her wayward son would return to her one day.

“I know, but you should have seen--”

“I mean about you leaving, Poe. We will get to _this_ issue next,” Leia Organa stated, gesturing to the ginger.

Dark eyes fell as Poe let out a soft sigh. The information he gathered was important. He might not have been able to convince Leia of that prior to him leaving against direct orders, but perhaps he could make her see his point now. “There’s a force brewing over on the other side, Leia. A no-named tech-genius. Half the age of Tarkin, but twice as bad. You know what they call him? Hellfire.” Saying it out loud sounded just as stupid as when the Commander had first heard it spoken. It made a point, though. The ominous reasoning behind it had to come from _somewhere_.

Leia, however, was not amused. “You disobeyed my direct order.”

“Yes, but--”

“And brought an outsider here without the simplest consideration as to what or who he might be.”

Poe huffed, hating to be scolded like some disobedient child - even if that was how he acted from time to time. “I want him on my squad. Give me a few days with him, I swear by it. If we have him, we could have the war. You don’t want his skill going to the darkside.”

The entire display was laughable, though the information offered up to General Organa had the ginger’s back tensing. He wasn’t in the spotlight. He wasn’t even in the wings waiting to be called upon the stage. He was in the background. Hidden in the curtains. Orchestrating a great revolution from within the heart of the First Order.

But none of that was supposed to be known.

If he lost the element of surprise, he lost his chance. Mutiny. Treason. Imprisoned. He couldn’t change the stars from behind bars. Or from behind the Resistance lines, for that matter, but from where Hux stood in that moment, he could end the war - but only if he was willing to be a martyr. One shot. A twitch of the finger could fall the great Leia Organa and end her reign. He would die a hero. But he would die. And while the Admiral would give anything for his own cause, he wanted to be alive to see the day he claimed victory.

“Can you kindly stop talking about me as though I am not standing right here? I’m not interested in joining this pithy group of people. Nor do I have any intention on becoming associated with this man in any way,” Hux made a general gesticulation toward Dameron. “Other than as a forgotten acquaintance that he drops off at the nearest safe territory.”

Brow quirking, Leia considered the young man who had just spoken to her. He was feisty. With a complete lack of respect for authority, it would seem. But it had been quite some time since Organa had seen her best pilot so excited and sure about something other than himself.

“Well, this 'pithy group of people' are especially busy at the moment, as we are on the verge of ending this war," Leia began. "And since you have no intention on becoming associated with this man standing beside you in any way, I am afraid you have no way of making it to the nearest safe territory, as this man is also especially busy at the moment. Perhaps you would care to stick around until someone _can_ shuttle you out of here.”

“Or I can take myself.”

The response made the General tilt her head slightly. There was potential, there. Like a lost arrow, the ginger simply needed a bow. A guiding hand to sharpen him, hone his skills and make him a lethal weapon. With the right archer, he could be made to pierce the strongest of armor and bring down the greatest of foes.

If, of course, this newcomer was not the archer, himself, and the galaxy but a quiver to him.

Leia could not be sure of his fate, yet, despite the feeling settling in her gut. She had never trained in the Force like her brother had, but it whispered to her now and again. Urged her. Gave her just a little push in one direction or another. With this man, that energy murmured of a destiny, though it was unclear if it was for good or evil. “I’m afraid that can’t happen, Mister..?”

Hux cast the question aside, “Why?”

“We have a very limited number of ships and shuttles,” Leia explained, “and each of them are carefully accounted for. Even though some people think they are allowed to use them however and whenever they see fit.”

Poe knew that Leia’s dig was aimed directly at him, but that was nothing new. “I’m telling you… What we can offer is better than anything you can get out there," the Commander tried once more, as though repetition would strengthen the request he extended toward the redhead. "Just a few days, that’s all I need to show you. Just a few days.”

“No. I don’t care what you were doing at that bar or what good you think you’ve done by bringing me here. I never wanted nor needed your help. You’re nothing but a--”

“That is another thing,” Organa suddenly spoke up. “Unfortunately, you’ve heard the intel that Commander Dameron took it upon himself to collect.”

“Worthless," Hux determined. "A drunk man’s gossip.”

“But a key collection of information done by an official of the Resistance. Even though he was acting on his own volition.”

“Then, by action, it has nothing to do with your rebellion, General. It was an act of treason by your own men, not by me,” Armitage argued back, brow furrowing.

“An unfortunate association, I fear. But I cannot risk the First Order knowing what intelligence we have on them,” Leia sighed.

“So you’re holding me prisoner. The noble lightside. Are all your soldiers kidnapped from trading posts and forced to stay under the weight of overheard intel?”

“A few days was all he asked, was it not?” Leia argued back. A few days was all they would need to safeguard the information that Poe collected. Wrongfully collected, but collected nonetheless.

“Does the First Order not--”

A hand lifted to silence the reckless pilot before he could ignite an argument about the pros and cons of each side of the war. Leia could see the usefulness and merit in the ideologies of both. It did not mean she supported the darkside, but she could see their point. Even more so since her son had turned to them.

Poe got the message. "A few days, Kid. Believe me.”

Hux, understandably, didn't believe him. But, until he was released or given enough slack upon his leash, he was backed into a corner. Finally, he conceded - if only to keep any more questions from coming his way. Scrutiny, now, was not an option. "A few days. That's it." 

While convincing a no-named stranger to enlist in just a matter of days would be a challenge, Dameron was confident. Cocky, with a splash of arrogance and sex-appeal, the Commander was normally only involved in recruitment by name. His reputation preceded him wherever he went, but he was was far more hands-on in the war effort than he was in swaying people to join the cause. Not unless his attentions were focused on a specific recruit, but, in those rare cases, they were normally far more excited to work with Poe than this newcomer was.

“Normally, recruits stay in the barracks," Poe thought aloud. "But this isn’t exactly normal, so... You can stay with me." 

\--//--//--/p>

“No. Absolutely not.”

Poe’s room was a mess.

More, it was a disaster zone detailing the aftermath of an explosion of clothing and empty beer bottles that was accentuated with splatters of the contents that was once inside said bottles. Sticky areas of dried beer stained the floor and a stale smell lingered throughout the area, regardless of whether or not Hux breathed through his nose or mouth. The aroma, the Admiral found, was far better smelling than it was tasting and that said all that was needed, considering the mold and cigarette butts that he could see scattered around the area.

Armitage stood in a little bubble of cleanliness, just inside the door, and refused to budge. It was place that the grime and dirt seemed just unable to reach, as though the outside world was condemning such a lifestyle and quarantining it to the quarters.

“Are you entirely incapable of taking care of anything?” The Admiral huffed, crystalline eyes taking in the mess. “Or was there a sudden hurricane in your room and you’re still looking for survivors?”

“What?” Clothing draped over his arm - some dirty, some, more than likely, clean - Dameron glanced up through thick curls and let out a soft huff. "No, it’s fine. This isn’t--I mean, I don’t have a maid, or anything, but…” A kick was given to cause a glass beer bottle to go scattering away. “I’m on the go a lot. So, I mean, things just kind of get tossed around, but, no, it’s fine. The couch pulls out. It’s comfy. Doesn’t get a lot of use.”

Unlike the bed, but… That would go unspoken.

“It’s fine," Dameron insisted, watching as the ginger stretched his body as much as he could in order to find a viable path for himself.

Hux moved about carefully, as though one misstep could lead him to contracting some horrid disease from the uncleanliness of the room, alone. Contamination waited on every surface. Each step further into the quarters breathed the slime of the Resistance upon his moonlight skin, dirtying it. Tarnishing it. Turning it into something he would rather cut off and forget. For the moment, however, until he could get a message out or steal a ship, the redhead would have to hope his immune system was strong enough to not catch whatever turned good, able men into Resistance scum.

“It’s filth,” Armitage muttered to himself, unable to really understand how anyone could live in such a chaotic environment. “I’m not going to change my mind. You’re wasting your time and breath, Commander. All I want is to return to my--home.”

Winning the ginger over with propaganda and scare tactics simply was not going to work. With a soft sigh, the Commander disappeared into his bedroom to discard of the items he had collected from around the living room, then reappeared with a new plan. A supposed refreshed way of thinking.

“I reacted,” Poe explained, taking a seat on one of the chairs and clasping his hands between parted knees. “I saw how you looked, and I reacted to save you. I saw how you fought, and I reacted to recruit you. I saw how you resisted, and I reacted… It’s what I do. I know that… Believe me, General Organa has been trying to fix it. But, I…” Dameron let his words trail off there, with another soft sigh. “Just give me some time, alright? Keep an opened mind, I’ll try not to just _react_.”

This wasn’t a business negotiation or a surrender. This wasn’t a place for an open mind or philosophical discourse about making a choice. The light side. The dark side. It was inconsequential to Hux.

Those with the Force were exulted. They were praised and raised above all else as heroes and villains. Good and evil. Common man could do nothing to reach them. They could claw and bite, fight tooth and nail for all their lives, and only ever be pegged as equal. Never better. So, it was time to obliterate that scale completely. Light side. Dark side. One side. Uniformity.

Unity.

Peace.

Order.

That was all the philosophy that the redhead needed.

“Fools react, Commander,” Armitage replied, “Leaders consider.”

There was a bite to those words that Poe tried not to take offense to. ‘Fool’ was a common term used to describe him. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew he reacted out of emotion, not thought. So there was no point in trying to deny that. It was clear this kid was going to see right through it. “Alright, then. Over these next few days, I’ll consider.”

Stepping away, Dameron reached for his datapad that was on the small counter separating his kitchen from living area and requested for a droid to come to his quarters.

“What size do you think you--Small. I mean, that’s kind of a given, so, I’ll have someone bring you something to change into. And then we can go take a tour. Get something to eat. Answer any questions you might have.”

Questions? Hux had plenty of questions he would like answered. Why was he here? How long would he be forced to stay? At what point would they realize that he would rather put a bullet through his head than join the Resistance?

The droid beeped when it arrived, rolling in on broken wheels that squeaked as it moved. Its rusted bolts and unoiled joints creaked and whined as it neared, holding up a Resistance uniform for the redhead.

“I’m perfectly fine with my own clothes,” he stated, eyeing the robot.

It was Poe that stepped forward to take the clothes, dismissing the droid and shutting the door behind him. "You won’t be near the third day. Look, I’m trying to be hospitable here, alright? I get that you want no part of this, but if you could just _try_ to open your mind to it. I’m not forcing recruitment papers onto you. I _just_ want you to see what we have to offer. At the end of this, if you still want nothing to do with it, I’ll admit defeat and send you on your way with a compensation package for your troubles."

“I don’t want your money or your memorabilia,” Hux countered, a little twitch playing upon the arch in his eyebrow. “Nor do I need either.”

One final look was cast about the room before the slighter male finally focused on his host--Prisoner--Enemy... Whatever. There was one point of intrigue that came from all this mess - the prospect of a tour. An inside look, guided by a man who was desperate for any sign of approval and acceptance.

“However… I will hear you out. You are obviously very…” Obsessed. “...Passionate about this place and the people. Show me around. Maybe you can help me understand what is so special about all this,” Armitage hummed, deception running deep in his words. The art of suggestion knew no bounds.

And if the tour gave him access to valuable information, like the location of the New Republic, well, then, it would give him a leg up on his remaining superiors.


	3. First Steps

A tour. There was nothing heroic about a tour and the prospect of giving one was not typically exciting to Poe Dameron, who would much rather hop into a starfighter and blow things up. But this was a special case. It marked the switch from denial to acceptance. Poe was a social person. People flocked to him and he knew how to handle them. He was a bright light in a dim and dark world. A beacon for lost souls. A lighthouse on a stormy sea.

He was an overly-confident and cocky man with a big mouth. “Perfect! Yes! I can show you--” Far less than what he planned on or wanted, due to the level of confidentiality that was needed in military organizations. “--So much. Do you want to start by seeing our ships?”

'Particularly those in the fleet, yes,' Hux thought to himself. Instead, he answered, "I suppose. I assume that the shuttle you kidnapped me in isn't your choice vehicle? Perhaps you could start by showing me that. Tell me what makes it so special compared to all the others.”

Oh. That was a dangerous topic. One that Poe could dwell upon for ages. “Well, you know the starcraft that the First Order uses? TIE Fighters? They’ve got the speed, right? I assume. Maker, I’d kill to get in the cockpit of one of those… But, anyway," the star pilot continued on as he led the unwilling recruit back out into the corridor, taking him toward the tarmac. “No stealth. The X-Wing, though..?” Voice trailing behind them, Dameron rambled on and on about specifications and every point of comparison that he could possibly conjure up.

And Hux took note of it all. Dedicated it to his memory to use at a better time.

As they entered the main hangar, the ginger slowed his stride to get a better look at the ships. Broken. Old. Some polished, but still just large hunks of junk. Each was a patchwork of metal covered by paint. Smoothed down as best as possible in order to hide the bruises and bumps. A pale hand raised to run along dented metal as they neared one in particular. It was dark. Black. With fiery orange accents that almost mocked the color of the Admiral’s hair. The custom ship of a leader. But not necessarily a good one.

“Your wings are inefficient,” Hux commented, his pride and constant need to make sure everyone around him knew that he was better betraying him in that moment. It was, unfortunately, a weakness of his youth. So desperate to be seen as on par with the older officers around him and to be acknowledged as the best, the ginger often gave out too much information or unveiled things too early in order to assert dominance.

Dark eyes flicked over Black One, taking in each and every detail while trying to find the reasoning behind what the redhead had said. “The wings..?” Poe questioned, frown growing deeper. “How? They’re meant for cutting into the sky to get around quicker.”

“But they have no means of giving you a way to slow down quickly or have a smaller turn radius,” Hux replied, sauntering around the ship. It was well made. Patiently cared for. “If you had extendable panels that lifted from each surface, you’d be able to cut down your deceleration time and achieve higher agility,” he commented, coming to stand beside the other male.

Unfortunately, the idea made sense. Unfortunate, because Poe rarely, if at all, took any external advice about his X-Wing to heart. The Black One was his own special project and more time had been dedicated to her than anyone he had dealt with in his personal life. That being so, he was almost possessive of the ship and any changes made to her. Regardless of how good pitched advice was, he would have to wait to 'come up with the idea on his own' before it was implemented.

“You seem to know a lot about starfighters,” the Commander brushed away any further talk about upgrades to his X-Wing, quirking a brow at the younger male in curiosity. “Grow up around them? Or are you just another flyboy, too?”

Neither. Hux studied them. Memorized them for military prowess. In response to the question, however, the Admiral hummed and gave a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders. “They are a certain fascination of mine. I consider the pursuit of knowledge a bit of a personal hobby. After all, you never know when you’ll need to be able to hardwire a starcraft. A good soldier needs to know such things, after all. Wouldn’t you agree, Commander?”

Poe’s lips pursed together in consideration. This kid was far too knowledgeable to let go. Whatever it took to recruit him, Poe would have to do it. Finance. Propaganda. A ship--No. Not a good idea. Not yet, at least.

“I agree. But… Could you?” Dameron motioned at a starfighter a little ways down. “Hardwire a random ship, I mean. Can you fix that one and make it flyable? Just wondering. I won’t force you to do it on the spot.” After a brief pause, he added, “What’s your name again, Kid? I can't just keep calling you 'Kid' for the rest of your life.”

Jade eyes glanced at the ship as the slighter of the two considered the aforementioned vessel. It was in terrible shape. Out of commission. A thing that was no more of a military necessity than a lawn ornament. But, away from the functional crafts, it had less security. Out of the sight of surveillance cameras. If it were to suddenly go missing, well… Would anyone really question it?

“If given enough time, I’m sure I could figure out how to fix your ship. I've always had a bit of an affinity with technology,” the taller male bragged. War was a game. Technology, but one of the movable pieces. “And my name is Armitage Hux.”

"Right, well," That was an odd name, but at least now Poe knew it. “‘If given enough time’ wouldn’t cut it in the field, would it? Say you had to disable an enemy’s ship and get yours up and working in a matter of minutes, would you be able to?” A pause. “Or… Are you more of a behind-the-scenes techie..?” 

That could prove just as useful to the Resistance. Black Squad had a damn good fighter crew. But the ground crew was severely lacking.

However, Hux was not an asset to be placed by another's hands. He wasn’t a cog in the machine, he was the mechanic divinely tasked with building empires and order. A master playing his game of chess, felling kings as he moved forward to play against better and better foes. With one in mind. One final opponent that he would end in a dance of royalty. A mad king of the cosmos squaring off against the queen of the lost planet.

“I thought you said you weren’t trying to recruit me,” Armitage sassed, stepping away from the other man once more.

“Sorry! Sorry, no, I--” It had been a gut reaction by the pilot - an impulse that was taken without second thought, which was exactly what Poe had promised not to do. “I was considering. Like you mentioned earlier. Everyone has different strengths, and if yours would be more beneficial away from enemy lines, then you can’t condemn a man for wishful thinking, right?”

There was something far more to this Armitage Hux that Poe wasn’t seeing. Something that he couldn't put his finger on, but that he could vividly feel. Like walking into a cold room and having the hairs stand up all along his neck. Shoving the sensation aside, he smiled. “Do you want to see the rest of this place?”

“Very much so,” Hux replied, a smirk painted upon his own lips. Never did he believe that such a meaningless mission as information trade would lead him to the core of the Resistance. “Do you have a communications hub? I’ve always been a little curious about what exactly a ‘behind-the-scenes’ techie does in war efforts,” he prompted, trying to word his suggestion as innocently as possible.

It worked. Poe was a smart man, but he was, at times, completely oblivious. “We do! C’mon. I’ll show you.”

On the walk there, the Commander pointed out various items of interest in hopes of keeping the ginger intrigued with their operation. Once they arrived to the communications center, though, Armitage was exposed to the very heart of it all. People bustling about. Officers and soldiers swapping information and gathering around glowing, projected screens that lit up their faces in an almost eerie blue hue.

The heart. The very pulse of the Resistance. Destroy it, and the body would rot. It only would take a little stutter, a few skips of beat, and everything would come crashing down.

Hux moved like a dammed river as he explored the area. Slowly. Fluidly. With so much power surging behind each step, just waiting to be released. To flood the galaxy with his order. To wash away anything that stood in his way and drown the days of old.

“Hey!” A voice suddenly called out, a portly man lumbering toward the redhead as he waded through the room. His shaggy, brunette hair and beard was matched by his wild, dark eyes. A little embroidering in his uniform proclaimed ‘Wexley’ for all to see. “This is a restricted zone. Who are you?”

“I’m with Commander Dameron,” Hux replied.

“Should’ah put on the uniform,” Poe murmured in tease as he stepped up to Armitage’s side. With a clearing of his throat, and his hands clasped behind his back, Dameron flicked his gaze over towards one of his squadmates. “At ease, Snap. This is Armitage. I’m trying to convince him that Black Squad would be a good fit.”

At that, Wexley let out a soft chuckle. “Anyone who needs convincing of that is insane. But... A personal tour from you, Dameron?” A low wolf whistle was added for effect.

That could have been a little insulting, but the Commander decided to take it as a tease before introducing his recon pilot to the potential recruit. “Snap here is one of the best."

“I’m not sure that’s saying much,” Armitage instantly retorted, holding out his hand to the newcomer.

“Oh, this one thinks he’s funny,” Wexley mocked, though his smile was warm and open. “Nice to meet you, Red.”

“Hux.”

“Bless you.”

Crystalline eyes fought to not roll. “Armitage Hux.”

“That’s a name I’ll never forget.”

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” the ginger replied, taking his hand back. “Commander Dameron has been very enthusiastic about me taking a chance on the Resistance. I’m not entirely convinced.”

Snap laughed at that. “You’re losing your charm, Poe. Everyone thinks you could talk a Nun into bed, but you can’t even get a ginger on your squad. Where are ya from, Hux? You have a, uh, accent. Kinda hard to hear behind all that arrogance, but it’s there.”

“Arkanis.”

“That’s where the pretentiousness comes from.”

“And where does your unwavering, asinine bêtise come from?”

“Akiva.”

“That _would_ explain it.”

The recon pilot nodded slowly. “I like him.”

“Well, that makes one of us,” Poe instantly quipped back though his signature smirk. Armitage would settle perfectly within his squad - this interaction with Snap proved just that.

But above all others, there was one man left that Poe needed to introduce Armitage to. Someone who had an impeccable ability to see into a person's soul and judge them accordingly. Poe's closest friend and the only person who Dameron trusted with anything and everything - his own faults included. “Snap, do you know if McDermott is anywhere around? Did he make it back to base, yet?”

“Just about an hour ago,” Snap responded, arms crossing over his chest. “You think Red is that valuable, huh?”

Annoyingly so, Hux silently commented as he transcribed the interaction into his memory. Snap. Age seemingly in his early thirties. Looks average, perhaps easily overlooked in a crowd, but unique enough to be identified, if need be. He had Dameron’s respect. A recon. But, ultimately, nothing but another pawn to eliminate.

“Who’s McDermott?” The Admiral asked, breaking himself out of his observations.

The judge and jury. The bailiff and witnesses. The whole damn court to Poe. "Someone I need you to meet.”


	4. Bullseye

Vague answers, such as explaining a person as simply someone that needed to be met with, were just as frustrating as they were unhelpful. Sometimes, they were done so purposefully for secretive reasons - like a detective carefully setting a scene in an interrogation room - or to make a suggestion for others to fill in the blanks as they saw fit, like a lawyer acting in defense of a client.

In the case of the vague answer regarding Commander Rhys McDermott of the Resistance, however, Hux did not have much faith that either of those logical explanations were what motivated the lack of true description.

Regardless, it was all that was offered as Dameron led them away from the communications hub and back out into the corridor, where he pulled out his datapad to send a message to McDermott, telling him to meet them in the mess hall.

Everyone in the Resistance loved Rhys. He was a warm man with an exceptionally large and open heart. How he got caught up in the war, Poe would never understand. But the Yavinese Commander would never regret the portly blonde’s decision to enlist. Rhys, as it happened to be, was a teddy disguised as a grizzly bear. He was large. Looming. Soft around every edge and able to block out the sun. But his smile, sparkling blue eyes and added bounce to his cheeks and belly reflected his true self.

Regardless of kind intentions, he was nearly tall as the ginger - and Hux hated that. Slender and sleek, the Admiral was built like a runner. A sniper. There was no bulk to him. In place of muscle, he had curves and lithe limb. Instead of strength, he had intellect and agility. He was not a looming figure, per se, but an intimidating one. His height, as it were, was all that made him seem powerful - that and the padded shoulders of a greatcoat used to bulk up his visage and hide his true physique - and this portly pilot was far too close to overcoming that one advantage.

“McDermott, I presume?” Hux murmured, one red eyebrow arched.

“Rhys,” the larger male corrected, smile bright as he reached out with one hand for introduction. “Can’t say I know your name..?”

“Hux. Armitage Hux,” Dameron interjected before the redhead had a chance to say anything.

“Well, that’s certainly fitting for somebody so intriguing.” Slender. Sleek. Attractive. The name suited him well, Rhys decided. “You thirsty, Armitage? Hungry?” Blue eyes flicked over towards Poe to silently ask what they were all doing there.

Hux considered the offer. “Tea, if it’s served.”

“Hot or cold?”

“Is that an actual question?”

Rhys chuckled at that, gesturing for the pair to take a seat as he stepped away to fetch two mugs of coffee and a cup of tea. There was more to this meeting than pleasantries and greetings and he knew it. Poe didn’t introduce Rhys to people for the fun of it. Yes, the shorter pilot was reckless and impulsive, but, when it came to Rhys, Dameron didn’t just toss people toward him on a whim.

Returning, he set the drinks down in front of everyone, smiling. “So. Are you new, here, Armitage?”

“Quite. I was just kidnapped earlier today,” Hux replied, taking his tea with a nod of thanks, back straight and shoulders level like a respectable soldier. Disciplined and in control, from the tip of his toes to the top of his head. “Apologies. What did you call it, Commander? I was just _saved_ earlier today."

Rhys figured 'kidnapped' to be the more correct terminology. "Poe?".

“I took the lead on a mission that--”

“Against Organa’s orders?”

“Does everyone know about that? Maker. Against her orders, I took the lead, and, one thing led to another and,” Poe’s words trailed off at that as he took a drink from the black coffee, “Armitage found himself in the middle of a brawl.”

Rhys glanced over the ginger in thought. “He looks capable of taking care of his own in a fight.” Scrappy. Quick.

“...He couldn’t.” Poe's interjection rivaled that of a guilty child.

“You sure about that?”

“No. He isn’t.” Armitage answered, “I can handle myself and was perfectly fine until he brought the fight to me.” Or, rather, until Dameron's name scared away the Admiral's target and cost him an immediate promotion.

Rhys let out a hearty laugh that shook his belly and warmed the immediate area with his contagious joy.

With a slight smile and a roll to his eyes, Poe took another swig of his coffee before he sat the mug down and steered the conversation more towards where he wanted it to be heading. “You should have seen him with the blaster, Rhys. I mean, one, two, three and it was done. I was trying to convince him that the Resistance would be a good fit for him.”

Rhys flicked his gaze back over towards the redhead. “You mean he would be a good fit for the Resistance.”

That stumped Dameron, “That’s what I said, isn't it?”

“No, you mean to imply the Resistance would benefit from his skill, not that he would benefit from us,” Rhys clarified to the credit of the ginger.

“Finally, someone has a bit of sense,” Armitage instantly followed, glad to finally have made contact with a man of reason. “I’ve told him I’m not interested and I told your leader the same, but apparently both speak a far different language than Basic.”

Rhys was quick to push forward before his fellow Commander could offer any interjection. “If Poe is actively seeking you, though, then you must be good. Many consider it an honor to be picked by him.”

“It’s far more of an annoyance, really,” Hux answered, “Plenty of people have said that to me in not so many words, but--”

Rhys nodded as he interrupted, knowing where the ginger was going with his statement. “Poe is the best pilot in the Resistance. He’s a good man. He just gets a little overzealous, sometimes. But being chosen by him is an honor. It’s impressive. But we don't have to talk about that. Tell me about yourself, Armitage.”

“Care to be more specific?”

“Poe said you were a good shot. How good?”

“The best.”

“Show me.”

\--//--//--

Ten minutes and a long argument about Hux not needing to prove anything at all found the trio outdoors in the training area. Targets set up and waiting a short distance away, Poe urged a very unamused and uninterested ginger to take up a blaster rifle and fire at will. To make good on his self-boasting and show that, once and for all, he was a necessary asset for the Resistance to obtain and keep.

“Come on. Just do it like you did earlier,” Dameron insisted, slightly irritated that Armitage wouldn’t even take the blaster. This could be the moment that people realized that the Commander wasn't just making all this up. It could prove that he was right. When nothing happened, Dameron growled. “Just three shots! Show him how you did it earlier! C’mon!”

The blaster, once more went clattering to the ground as soon as Poe let go of it. It fell, useless, against the floor. Only to be picked up and handed back to the redhead for another round of agitated pleading.

“Poe. He doesn’t want to,” Rhys insisted, wishing he hadn’t brought up anything at all. It was a challenge that didn’t need to be overcome. "Or maybe he was just lucky at the cantina or gets nervous in front of a crowd. You don't need to put him on the spot."

One spark.

That was all that was needed to ignite a fire. To burst a small ember into a blaze, engulfing everything around it and leaving nothing in its wake.

Such heat, such consuming power flickered deep inside jade crystals. The seething anger building more and more with each prod given to him by the smaller pilot. Hux scowled, anger burning inside of him for just a few moments more before the rifle-blaster was suddenly raised and fired.

One target.

Two.

Three.

Bullseye after bullseye.

With sharp focus and even sharper aim, the ginger fired rapidly until each target was sparking and smoking. With a sudden twist of his stance, the rifle was pointed directly at Poe, pale finger hovering over the trigger. One last target. He could do it. Hux could end this torment in that very moment, just with a curl of his finger. A little twitch.

Instead of flinching or startling in any way, the Commander simply stared down the blaster with a smirk. His gaze locked upon Armitage’s as he took in the swirl of emotion against an otherwise stoic facade. This kid could be their undoing in the hands of the enemy. But he could also become their uprising, if only Poe could convince him to join.

Rhys let out a sharp exhale of surprise. “Wow, that was--”

“Impressive? Told you.” Brow quirking, Dameron’s smirk only increased as he waited to see if Hux would cross that line and pull the trigger on him, or if there was still hope.

For a few long moments, nothing happened. Time seemed to simply stop.

Armitage had the chance, in that moment, to wound his enemies. To bring down the most dangerous of them all. But, by doing so, he would be the next standing before the firing squad. Little by little, the blaster lowered and the storm calmed in those crystalline eyes in a haunting show of control that did not come from instinct. Highly capable, programmed from birth... Hux stepped back, very suddenly at ease. "Satisfied?"

McDermott was simply stunned. Talent and restraint like that was not just known. That was something that required training. Hux had natural skill, that much was a given, but pure talent needed to be refined. To polish it took time and discipline. “Where did you train, Armitage?”

“Does it matter? He’s an incredible shot. Imagine that up in the sky in an X-Wing, man!”

“Arkanis.”

Rhys froze at the name.

Arkanis. Home of a military academy unmatched by any other in the galaxy. A place of elite soldiers and high society people. Patrons and supporters of the Empire. This man, fiery and bright as he was, was bred in the darkside. Born in battle and raised to wage war. His very heartbeat was a war drum.

A spartan. A viking. A conqueror that would settle for no less than that.

“Poe…” Rhys started, glancing at Armitage. If this man was unclaimed, they needed to keep him. If he had already chosen his path, they needed to destroy him.

Poe took in Rhys’ expression, though had no idea what he was trying to silently convey. “So, you think he’d be a good fit..?”

McDermott folded thick arms over a broad chest he turned to face the redhead directly, setting aside Poe's question for the time being. “Armitage, are there any questions I can answer for you? Anything that might help the decision process? I know Poe can be a little difficult.”

“That's an understatement,” the ginger replied, handing the blaster back to the shorter Commander.

Hux was at a crossroads. The longer he remained at the Resistance base, the more time that his enemies had to figure out who he was and where he was hailing from. The more time, that is, for a traitor among his own ranks or a lucky informant to come across his files and broadcast them to the galaxy. However, the longer he remained, the more vital and classified information he was able to gather. Leaving too early would cause questions to be asked. Leaving too late would expose him. For now, it would seem, he had no other option than to keep his head down and play his cards just right.

“Perhaps you and I could take a walk, Commander McDermott,” Hux hummed, “So we can talk without supervision.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Rhys concluded, pressing a hand low against Armitage’s back to guide him away. “Don’t let Poe deter you from our cause. I know it’s a lot to take in, and many would argue against us. But we’re not bad people. We just have different views than what the First Order believes in. Honestly, not all of us here want to blast the other side out of existence. We’ve got our trigger happy fighters, but doesn’t every cause? Some of us just want peace.”

“I’m rather certain someone from the First Order would say the exact same thing,” the redhead replied, glancing over a sloping shoulder to make sure that Poe wasn’t following them.

The Commander was too forward. Too blind. He was so desperate to be remembered as a hero, that he often forgot to be a leader. Rash, reckless… As much of a danger to his own people as he was to the First Order. But, perhaps, he could be polished. Like a diamond in the rough, he could be cut and shaped. Made into something precious, rather than something overlooked.

“Everyone is attempting to sell me a position, here. I don’t want to hear your pitches. I want to be leveled with. I’ve been told your strengths and positives. What are the negative consequences of being here? What are the threats? What balances all those sales pitches that I’ve gotten from Commander Dameron?” The Admiral asked, coming at the issue at had from a new, manipulative angle.

Rhys contemplated his answer for a solid moment as they walked side-by-side. There was plenty to discuss when it came to the negatives of joining the Resistance and Armitage certainly didn’t seem to want anything sugar coated. “The loss. War is very… As I said, there’s good and bad people on each side. I don’t like casualties. And we’re constantly on the go because the First Order seems to be on our tail more times than not. They’ve got more money. More power. More everything, which will constantly give them a one-up on us. There’s plenty of bad for maybe not enough good. But if you believe in something, then it balances out in the end. In one way or another.”

Belief and hope did not win wars. Money and soldiers and weapons and strategy - that was the key to military success. Defeat of the enemy, bringing them down to their knees until they are either forced to surrender or pose a last stand.

Hux could do that. The current First Order General could not.

“And Poe? He seems so lost in his own reckless abandon that he doesn’t consider that both a win and a loss are equally likely outcomes. If I fly with him, what guarantee is there that his own pride and egoism will not lead him into making a decision that will cast me to the wolves?” Hux asked, stopping their walk once they were outside.

“There is absolutely no guarantee for that,” Rhys admitted. “Poe is incredible, both in the cockpit and on foot. Not to belittle anyone else here, but he is the backbone. I’ve never met someone as dedicated and as passionate as he is about anything in life. But that does come with a price. And he knows that. This war is going to be the death of him, whether it’s at the hands of the First Order or by his own recklessness. He was born into the war, he won’t make it out of the war. But he is going to make a big difference. I’m just glad we’ve got him on our side.”

“You say that like I’ve already signed up,” Armitage crossed his arms over his chest, longing to be back in his uniform, rather than in undercover, civilian clothes. It was indecent for him to be seen in such a way by the enemy. “My family has always been in the war. My father trained soldiers. My grandfather and grandmother dedicated themselves to the Empire. What makes you and Poe so sure that I’m willing to and considering breaking that line?”

“Me? I’m not convinced. Poe gets an idea and it sticks with him. You could become some kind of First Order General and he’d still hold hope that you were a little sweet talking away from being recruited,” That was a tease, and it came with a light laugh. “You’re your own person. But I do hope you realize how valuable you’d be, here. You’d rise to the top pretty damn quickly. Remind Poe of that, and I’m sure he’d shuttle you out of here almost instantly.”

With a soft smile, Rhys motioned for Armitage to continue walking. Though he did so, Hux kept quiet. This was why he believed in and supported the _breeding_ of an army. No messy emotions or strings attached. No distractions. Just training and war.

\--//--//--

Long after the two parted ways, Rhys thought about the redhead. He contemplated everything that had happened that day - from first meeting to wandering aimlessly around the base talking about Poe and his squad. Those thoughts had the portly pilot picking up and setting down his datapad multiple times before finally just reaching out to his longtime friend.

[[ **To:** Dameron, Poe  
**From:** McDermott, Rhys  
He’s a good man, Poe. But Arkanis is pretty intense. They are basically born into the First Order]]

While the sound of his device receiving a message distracted Poe from where he was 'helping' Armitage tidy up the main living area so they could pull the couch-bed out, the content therein was what led him to take a seat upon the edge of his bed with a frown upon his lips.

[[ **To:** McDermott, Rhys  
**From:** Dameron, Poe  
Maybe he’s seen the bullshit that is the FO, then. I mean, it’s not like he’s already signed up for them.]]

“Flyboy.” The sharp tone that accompanied the title was snappish as Hux saw the man merely lazing about.

The room was a mess. All the rooms were a mess. And if he was going to have to stay there, then the redhead demanded that at least a little bubble be tidied up for him to be in. To keep out of the trash and garbage that littered the place.

[[ **To:** Dameron, Poe  
**From:** McDermott, Rhys  
I know. Look, if he joins us, he could win the war for us. If he joins them, I don’t know if we’ll have a chance. He’s smart. I mean, he’s smart, Poe. And he sees everything. But Arkanis is not something to just write off. He could be brainwashed. His family used to support the Empire. Did you know that?]]

Rhys’ message caused a little ping to go off from the datapad with perfect timing - stopping Poe from beginning to clean, again, to instead, stay on perched on the edge of his bed.

[[ **To:** McDermott, Rhys  
**From:** Dameron, Poe  
Doesn’t mean he supports them. Maybe he hates his parents and want to go against everything they’ve ever instilled in him. Maybe he wants to fight for good and not for stuck up pendejos. Maybe you just don’t want him on my squad so you can steal him for yourself.]]

[[ **To:** Dameron, Poe  
**From:** McDermott, Rhys  
I’m not trying to take him from you, Poe, but you don’t even know if he wants to join. Maybe he doesn’t want to be part of the war.]]

“Dè a thuirt mi dìreach?” The foreign grumble came hidden under a blanket of breath as Armitage stalked his way back toward the wayward pilot. “Dameron. This is your quarters. Clean it.”

[[ **To:** McDermott, Rhys  
**From:** Dameron, Poe  
Umm he can speak another language]]

“Dos pueden jugar este juego.” A brow quirked in challenge, though Poe had no idea what was originally spoken to him.

[[ **To:** McDermott, Rhys  
**From:** Dameron, Poe  
think hes going to murder me in my sleep tonight. G2g…]]

“Look. I knew exactly where everything was. It might not have been your type of filing system, but it worked," the Commander insisted as he stood from the bed and held his hands out in front of him.

“No. Your system apparently triggered a landmine that blew all your things around the room. While you, unfortunately, survived, I’m fairly certain that something else died in here,” Armitage countered, grabbing another jacket from the floor and tossing it into the hamper he confiscated from a poor cleaning droid that passed by the room.

All he needed was an immaculate bubble.

Or a match to burn everything with.

Whichever came first.

The bubble was what Armitage got, but barely any more than that. With fresh sheets, a blanket, and two pillows that were delivered by a droid, Poe covered the sofa-bed and got it ready for someone to sleep on. Whether that would be him or Hux was still undecided.


	5. Take Me for a Ride

The next morning came with the screech of a kettle and the distinct smell of tea lingering in the air. Everywhere Hux went, cleanliness followed. Little pockets of polished areas appeared here and there, marking where his feet had to touch the floor in order to get from one part of the room to another during the night and early hours. He was a man always ready to go. Ever awaiting an alarm to sound and announce that it was time to take up the torch and lead his men in battle. Along those very same lines, his possessions were few and far between. Replaceable. Each only purchased for the comfort of his room or to continue the expensive tastes that he had been born to.

And everything was orderly. It had a place and remained there when not in use. Almost anally organized, his quarters and office space were equally pristine. Even his armies were such. Each person he met in life but a puzzle to solve before either discarding or keeping. It was all classified into usefulness. Categorized.

Not at all like the meltdown that was Poe Dameron's rooms.

Wandering about in the early morning light, the Admiral made himself a steaming cup of tea before pouring a spot for Poe to make however he liked. After all, Hux might have done the courtesy of making beverage, but he was no servant waiting upon the pilot.

If the screaming of a pot and the clattering of cups wasn’t the most annoying sounds to wake up to, Poe was certain that he didn't want to hear what may be worse. Personally, he preferred the spitting and hissing of a coffee machine - something less piercing and grating. Grumbling beneath his breath, a shirtless pilot emerged from the bedroom with his hand rubbing the back of his head tiredly. He gave one look at the scene, only to disappear into the refresher.

Emerging a minute later after the sound of a toilet flushing could be heard, Dameron shuffled barefoot into the little kitchenette to sniff the air.

“Tea..? Hot water with leaves in it..?” A brow quirked as he reached for his own mug, trying to decide how best to make it taste like more than just barely flavored water.

“The elegant drink of esteemed society? Yes. There is cream and sugar on the counter and honey in the cabinet,” Hux answered, hardly even looking at the other man as he found a seat at the table. Half-clean. Just enough for him to settle down with his breakfast of tea and toast. “You’re welcome.”

“Yeah, yeah… Thanks…”

Grumbling in another language under his breath, Poe stirred all three ingredients into his tea, pausing to sip it to see what else needed to be added. Coffee was a far better option, but this would do for now.

As he made his way to the table, the pilot glanced at the plate of supposed breakfast. Supposed in that there was hardly enough food on the plate to feed a dog, let along a full grown man.“No wonder you’re so skinny, if that’s all you live off of.”

“Skinny?” The repeated word was coated in condescension.

_Thin as a piece of paper._

It was a word that haunted the redhead. Judging his ability based upon his physique. Placing as much weight upon his thin appearance as his feet did upon a scale.

Armitage had an older brother, once. Strong. Broad. A man who was visually suited to be a soldier and a General. A man who followed blindly and accepted orders, regardless of what might become of him. A puppet on a string. Until, of course, a bullet cut his cord.

And then there was the redhead. Skinny. Illegitimate. Ever second best to a bully.

But not for long.

_Thin as a piece of paper. And just as useless._

“Hardly,” he continued, sipping his tea and shaking off those ghostly words. “I simply have more than just my body to rely upon.”

“Yeah. A bad attitude and the scowl to match.” Rolling his eyes, Poe reached across the table to snag a piece of toast, instantly taking a bite out of it before Armitage could protest. “Relax, Red. Never said being skinny was a bad thing. Believe me. You can squeeze into more places than I could. That’s useful. I just said you’re skinny.”

“I’ve heard it all before, Commander,” the slighter male replied, pushing the plate over to the other man for him to eat off of. He never found the pleasure in food, anyway. “What do you want from me, Dameron?”

Poe could only glare at him for a few, solid moments. “Maybe if you paid attention to at least one word I spoke yesterday, then you would already know that answer.” With a huff, the Commander finished his piece of toast, and downed his drink that was far more creamer than anything else. Only then did he return his focus back to Hux. “You’re highly impressive. And that’s hard for me to say. I want you to join my squad. And hopefully not _take over_ my squad. I mean, when I’m dead, sure, but… I want you to stick around.”

Gaze staying on the other male, Armitage considered the pilot for a long moment. If this man was truly as good as everyone said he was, then he would make a very valuable asset to Hux’s new order.

Or a good set of ashes in a tray.

“Why did you join the Resistance? Surely your talents would be more recognized and utilized in a larger army. Why not advance in the ranks of the First Order?”

Poe had to really consider how he wanted to answer that without giving away too much insight into his own past. “I’ve considered. Believe me, but… Nah. I just--It’s not about rank. I can’t see myself ever supporting the idea of complete and total takeover of the galaxy. Let people be whoever the hell they want to be. Why does one person get to control the masses? Those in power in the First Order are nothing but pendejos. I can’t get behind that.”

“What if it wasn’t about control?” Hux asked, playing his cards carefully - trying to decide what sort of conundrum the man sitting before him was. A riddle, maybe? A puzzle box? “What if it was about unification through equalization? A military economy. If everyone started on the same level and rose through the ranks on their own merit, instead of on their wealth, wouldn’t that be better than grasping at broken hope?”

A pause, then, suddenly, the Admiral slid his chair over so they were sitting closer to each other. His voice lowered, gaze honing in on the pilot like a hawk focusing on its prey.

“I believe that order will lead to peace. Sustained peace. But only if people like you, Commander, see the potential in that. See the…” A beat. “See the spark that will ignite hope for the future.”

That was a lot to take in. Poe didn’t believe either side could ever make it to that point, but… He could see the good in that. He could see what was beneficial there. Merit earned by time put in, not by credit paid. There was potential, there. “Yeah, I guess. But, what--You want to start your own side of the war? Or do you think you could accomplish that with the Resistance? Looks, it’s a cute pipe dream, but it’s not part of the big picture.”

Poe was far to simple to be a puzzle box, Hux decided in that moment as he listed to the pilot stumble over his words. All those secret latches and confounding steps did not align to form this man. “Perhaps. But, if I had people like you with me, it could happen."

Maybe he was chess? A long puzzle that could only be unfolded between two opposing players. A collection of pawns and knights. An army of black and white that guarded a crown. A forceful queen who moved everywhere across the board upon command of the player and a king fated only to fall.

“But… This is, of course, all hypothetical," Armitage hummed, sitting just a little straighter in his seat. He would find time to ponder all this another time.

Hypothetical, and kind of amusing. Enough so, in fact, that Dameron laughed and shook his head. “That was just a way to show me how I should have recruited you, right? I mean, you don’t really have plans to do any of that. It sucks, because I could probably get behind that. But, damn… You played me good. Kudos. You really had me going there for a second.”

“Well, we’ll have to see what the future holds,” the slighter man murmured. Perhaps there was hope for the rebel pilot after all. Maybe he could be spared, if it was possible to bring him to the darker side of the war. “I’ve heard so much about your piloting prowess, Commander. Will I be able to witness it today? Perhaps you could take me for a ride or--”

The smirk that formed on the Commander’s face and the way one of his eyebrows rose caused Armitage to pause and quickly analyze what he said.

Was that excitement over the prospect of flying that sparked to life in obsidian eyes?

Or was it..?

Hux scowled, “Not that kind of ride.”

Poe threw both of his hands up in mock innocence as he scoffed a laugh. “I didn’t say anything. That was _all_ you, Armitage.” Still, the pilot’s grin remained. Taking the redhead up wouldn’t be a problem. If showing off and doing what he knew best was what would sway Hux into joining the Resistance, then so be it. “I will take you on any kind of ride you want.”

“Shove it, Dameron.”

\--//--//--

At the tarmac, the redhead wandered circles around Poe’s ship, getting a final look at it before deciding that it was safe enough to ride in. Perhaps not to _fly,_ but that wasn’t his job in that moment. The pilot insisted on testing him and attempting to recruit him. In turn, Hux would consider this little flight an audition. To see if the man was worth anything at all. If not, well, then the Commander would be lost in the flames of war.

As footsteps drew closer to Armitage, he tossed over his shoulder a quick, “If you’ve come to tell me, again, that you’d rather pilot me into your bed, I will beat your skull into the concrete until you stop twitching.”

“I was just going to say that I am expertly skilled in both. So if you wanted to try your hand at either versions, then I’d be all for it.” Tossing a helmet in Armitage’s direction, Poe stuck his own onto his head. "Don’t worry, Princess. It’s a new helmet. No one’s worn it, yet.” With that, he started the climb up into his starfighter - but not before adding, “Fair warning, it’s going to be cramped in here.”

All around them, there were other shuttles and training vessels with plenty of seating room for them both. Even a handful of two-seater X-Wings that were used to bring up the new generation of pilots were set off to the side - untouched and readily available. Instead, they were crammed close to one another in a starfighter simply because Poe refused to fly anything else if he was bid to show off his talents. After all, there was no better craft than the Black One. Customized just for him, his ship was the best there was. Made to be fast. Lethal. If Poe was demanded to perform in the sky for the sake of swaying a recruit onto his team, then he was determined to stack as many cards in his favor as he could.

Long legs pressed against the side of the cockpit as the ginger huffed and tilted his head to keep it from hitting the top of the hatch. He wiggled and contorted himself until he was reclined against the Commander and attempting to stop himself from mentally listing all the reasons he shouldn’t just pull the plug on this idea. There were other ways for Poe’s prowess to be demonstrated. Regardless, the Admiral cleared his throat. “Go on, then. Impress me.”

Poe was already rather intrigued by and interested in the weighted warmth Armitage brought as the man more or less claimed residence in his lap. But that would be left unspoken as he, instead, smirked and reached around the slender body to start up the X-Wing.

A moment later, and Hux was pressed impossibly tight against the Commander as they shot off into the clouds. Trick maneuvers were fine and all, and Dameron performed a few just to set the tone, but he knew Armitage would probably find it more impressive if he were to do evasive techniques,

So, he did; mimicking any move he might need to pull should he find himself in an unsavory situation.

A sudden barrel roll had the redhead bracing a hand against the window to keep from crashing into it.

Reckless, that's what Dameron was. An absolute terror in the sky.

But the shorter male was also in complete control. As insane and frightening as the experience was, the Admiral could tell that he was safe. Each jarring motion, as erratic as it might seem, was made with precise movements of Poe’s hands. Little reactions. Small changes to keep them at the perfect distance between the tree tops and the clouds.

It was, as much as didn’t want to admit it, impressive.

The skill Poe had came strictly from a lifetime in the cockpit. Born to two incredible pilots, Dameron started admiring and learning from his parents since he could keep his head up on his own. His hands used to cover his mother’s as she piloted with him in her lap until he was old enough to fly on his own.

It was an addiction ever since then; one he indulged on every chance he could get. Morning, noon, and night, Poe was in the sky. In sickness, in health, in pure exhaustion, he didn’t stop. If he wasn’t flying, he felt useless - like a bird with clipped wings. So he used that to his advantage and took every bit of opportunity that he got.

By the time they landed back on the tarmac, Poe was grinning. “Not bad, huh?”

“You're insane.” A pause. “But you aren't terrible.”

Jade eyes flicked over a sloping shoulder at the other male. Hux was not a man that was easily impressed. It took quite a lot to make him raise an eyebrow or make note of anything or anyone. He was taught to accept nothing less than the best.

He hand picked those closest to him and left the rest as foot soldiers. And Poe…

Poe, he would hand pick, if given the chance.

“Is there anywhere here that has decent food? Perhaps you could tell me more about Black Squad over lunch and drink.”

Poe’s smirk only increased. This was damn good. If Armitage was searching for more information on Black Squad, then clearly that only meant that Hux was interested in joining. Why else would he care?

“There’s a cantina at the end of base. More people frequent the mess hall because it’s closer, but, I think the food is better there.” Which isn’t saying much, but… “My treat.”

Poe seemed to act like such a gentleman to those he wanted to recruit. Though, from how fluent he was in flirtation, Hux had a feeling that such offers were not saved just for those he was interested in recruiting for the war. Regardless, he gave a curt nod and let the other male led them away, still dressed in their flight suits - it was, unfortunately, as close to a uniform as Armitage would get while at the Resistance base.

“You seem more comfortable in a starfighter than you do on ground. How long have you been flying for?”

“My whole life.” There was a pause of consideration as Poe came to realize just how vague and overused such a statement was. After a soft chuckle and a shake of the head, he added more information to back up that statement. “My mother was a Lieutenant and my father was a Sergeant of the Rebel Alliance, so, I was literally created and born in the middle of it all. Before I was able to try piloting on my own, my mother would let me put my hands on hers so every move she made, every switch she flipped and knob she turned, I got to feel like I was, as well.”

As he spoke about her, Poe, without realizing it, reached up to pull a necklace free that he always wore beneath his suit and shirt, simply holding it tight within his grip.

“Started me off on my own when I was six," Dameron recalled.

The necklace was a simple chain - something that the pilot had to afford, himself. It was tarnished and dirty, but the ring that hung from it was shined. Polished. Cared for so tenderly. Kept almost brand new.

A ring. Just one.

While he made note of the jewelry, Hux stayed silent on the topic. It was just another clue to solving Dameron.

“My father…” The redhead stopped short. Going into detail about his life and his past would be arming the enemy against him. It could prove fatal. Still, perhaps a small tit-for-tat was courtesy and proper in such a time. “I had an older brother. He was… Father always spoke of him as the perfect soldier, until he died. I was too young to remember too much about my life when the battle of Arkanis had us fleeing from our home. From that point on, my father turned all his attention to me. He lost his perfect soldier. So he was forced to use me, instead. He hated me.”

That was a far deeper tale than Poe was anticipating. It caused him to fall silent for several long moments before he cleared his throat and gave his head a nod. “Is that why you haven’t gotten involved in it all? I mean, I can fully understand that.”

The star pilot hadn’t considered personal reasons as why Armitage might not want to join. He had just assumed the redhead hadn’t been given ample opportunity to learn what the Resistance was about.

Poe glanced at the man beside him, “You should rise above that. Rise above what he had forced you into, and show him that you’re more than just that.”

Armitage had.

And, in doing so, he became exactly what his father had wanted: The perfect soldier.

“Perhaps one day I shall,” he answered, leaving it simply at that. “But I could say the same of you. You weren’t given a choice in this life. Why not leave it behind and forge your own path?”

Because it was the only path Poe knew. Because he wanted to honor his parent’s legacy. Because he was an egotistical asshole who needed to stroke his confidence at every turn…

Letting out a soft sigh, Poe gave a shoulder a noncommittal shrug.

“What would I do? I mean… 'Former Resistance Pilot' isn’t necessarily the best thing to put on my resume, but it’s the only thing I could use.” Thought trailing off, Dameron motioned ahead at the cantina drawing nearer to silently announce their arrival. “I probably wouldn’t hate teaching dance,” he admitted, head turning to flash the redhead a slight smirk. “Daring pilot, dance instructor. Goes hand-in-hand, yeah?”

“Well, ‘forced recruit, ballroom dancer’ probably goes along the same lines,” Hux countered, stopping their conversation as a serving droid approached them.

Lights flickering and optics focusing on the duo in the dim light of the cantina, the robot screeched at them to follow it to a booth nestled on the side of the room. The table was scratched and gouged. Names and initials carved into each place upon it.

A.R. & P.D.

With a clearing of his throat, Hux trained his attention back upon the other man. Just letters. Nothing concrete. "Dance, hm? What sort of dance would you teach, Commander?”

The carved initials were quickly covered up by a napkin dispenser; out of sight, out of mind. They didn’t need to be discussed, they didn’t need to be thought about. This was neither the time, nor place, nor company, to hold such a conversation.

“Tango,” came the answer a moment later as Poe cleared his throat and leaned back in his seat. “Or Salsa. Either. I can do a few others, but those are my favorite.” Dark eyes flicked over the sight of the redhead sitting before him. “Ballroom..? I mean, that’s not very fun, is it?”

"Fun? Ballroom dance is the most elegant form of the art. Each step must be made in perfect unison with your partner. It's intimate and moving. Filled with emotion," Armitage countered as he leaned back in his seat. "To dance ballroom, you must be in complete control of yourself. For those who have always had control stolen from them, it is a form of escapism."

Like two crystal balls, those pale eyes recalled the letters etched into the table. Predictions of the truth behind them and how heavy such small scratch marks could weigh upon the soul flickered through the mind of the Admiral. A whisper of actuality to be realized later.


	6. Call to a Kiss

Control. Such a simple thing that created wars and ended them. Control over oneself. Control over countries. Continents. Worlds. The struggle for control often seeped into life, but in dance, too? 

Poe considered the description of ballroom, face expressionless as he stared at his potential recruit. The man was a mystery wrapped in an enigma and given red hair as a warning for others to stay as far away as possible. “Right… Well, I like to have fun, so…” A soft chuckle came from the pilot. “Have you ever danced a tango? Now that's a dance that is filled with emotion. It’s passionate, it’s fiery, it's--Fuck, it’s _fun_.”

The serving droid that arrived to take their order put their conversation on hold, but only for a moment.

"It's reckless and rash," Hux countered after the Commander ordered each of them something far stronger than water. "Much like your methods."

Although the Admiral simply did not wish to think about how the beverages set before them had come out of some odd tubes extending from the droid's fingers, the observation nevertheless caused a red eyebrow to quirk. Amber liquid bubbled against glass as a strong scent of alcohol wafted into the air. With a clink, the drinks were raised, neither man looking away as they drank. It was a challenge, though an unspoken one. Whoever blinked, whoever put their glass down was bowing out. Surrendering.

And being that each man had the pride of twenty, neither stopped until the last drop was gone.

Which, alone, Hux supposed, could be labeled as reckless. 

The drinks were quickly refilled by the droid.

"I haven't danced the tango in years," the Admiral admitted, "Have you ever done a waltz?"

“They’re alright.” Second drink knocked back, Poe gave the slighter man a wink, then slammed his glass onto the table upside down.

As crystal eyes dropped to the glass upon the table, a pale hand raised the remaining drink to pink lips. Like Poe, Armitage set his cup upside down, scowling at the way his throat burned as he swallowed. The redhead was not a man to frequent bars or go out for a night on the town. He didn't knock back liquor and down bottles of wine in his free time. He enjoyed sipping on luxury, yes, but not excessively. After all, it would be hard to react to a red alert if he couldn't walk a straight line. Drunkenness was unbecoming. It was beneath of man of the Arkanian's stature.

The grimaced reaction to the shot of liquor did not go unnoticed by the Commander. “Take it you don’t like tangos, then?”

"Tangos? They were simply a way to fill the time and transition into the next dance. I haven't participated in enough of them to have an opinion," Armitage answered, giving a simple shrug of his shoulders to show his flippancy toward such a topic, such a style and such a show of unbridled sexuality.

“Then do one with me.” The Commander’s challenge came with a slight smirk and raised eyebrow - an expression that Poe often wore when flirting. “Not now, obviously. But sometime.”

The prospect would have been more interesting to the taller of the two, had they not already been locked in an ongoing ideological dance. A powerful pasa doble of firing squads and starfighters. A waltz among the constellations that shattered stars and rewrote the teachings of philosophers. All those who gazed upon the cosmos in search of answers, finding nothing but riddles and chaotic order.

But a tango? Hux could understand the duel and seduction of such a dance, as they were virtues that were well appreciated in the aristocratic culture in which he was raised. The twisting and twirling of duelers before they drew their sword and, perhaps partially, while they were clashing. Or, in a broader sense, passion and disorder coming together in a heated dance between the First Order and the Resistance. Each step, a struggle to take the leading position.

Armitage ran his gaze over the man who was nothing but a piece of scum that his normally-sober mind would have never once considered anything but a place to wipe his shoes. "Only if you have a waltz with me."

“Fine. A waltz,” Dameron agreed, hand reaching out to seal the deal with an official handshake. “But don’t go steppin' on my toes, Red.”

"Don't drop me," Armitage countered as he took Poe's hand in a firm grip.

If nothing more, at least the First Order officer could say that he attempted to culture scum and found it unteachable. Regardless, it was unlikely for either of them to recall any details of such a deal, let alone perform it, once they sobered. Whether that slip of the mind was due to neither being willing to admit that the exchange actually took place or because they were merely repressing it, the conversation would, nevertheless, go quietly into the night.

“Haven’t dropped a partner, yet.” The statement was cocky, but it was true. “Might’ve fallen on a few partners before, but they've never complained about it.”

"Having sex with your partners has nothing to do with your dancing ability," the redhead countered upon catching the noticeable smirk forming on Poe's face.

“You won't be saying that for long."

With that, another round of drinks was ordered, followed by another - droid waved down again and again to add to the drinks, but never actually to obtain any food. Recklessness, it would seem, was contagious just through breathing Resistance air. Minutes ticked by. Hours, perhaps. But there was something no natural and easy with chatting over drinks. Flirting over drinks. Rejecting said flirtation over drinks.

All the warning signs and lights that blared in the ginger's mind were muted. Dampened with liquor. Drowning in alcohol. The arms of his inner self - that driven soldier determined to be the General one day - flailed and slapped against the amber liquid, trying to gain attention. To reclaim focus and end this silly night before any lines were crossed. Granted, at that point, every line was moving and waving. Dancing in front of intoxicated vision.

Finally cut off when they could no longer pronounce the names of drinks, the pair decided that there was little use for a tavern in which no good times were currently flowing. Granted, they had no food in their system and that was sure to spell trouble, but that was a moot point as as they took their staggered leave. The duo's exit was nothing akin to graceful. Feet stumbled and bodies bumped as they both insisted they were sober enough to walk on their own.

The amount of times they nearly went tumbling to the ground, however, should have proved otherwise. 

The drinks served by the Resistance were cheap. They had no flair of expensive taste or rich mix of alcohol. They were heavy and probably made in a bathtub. Meant to not just take the edge off, but smooth out an entire person. Wipe away any roughness that existed. And, in that way, it succeeded.

Though their trek was slow and pitiful, they did eventually manage to arrive back at the Commander's quarters - tripping and tipsy.

"Stop!" Hux yelped as he was suddenly leaned on - Dameron's weight not something he was ready to heft. 

The exclamation came too late and the cause of it could not be reversed or stopped in any way. Instead, Poe bumped into Armitage’s side and, when the support wasn’t there, he stumbled further, until the two were toppling down to the ground with the Commander landing on the redhead.

Instead of getting angry, or annoyed, or embarrassed, Dameron laughed. And he laughed hard. Truthfully. Fully. Unapologetically. “I-I’m--Fuck! I’m sorry!”

"I' don' sound like i'," Armitage grumbled, an accent beginning to make itself known in his drunken state - the conscious effort he put into hiding it simply falling away to reveal a Gaelic lilt. He huffed, finally managing to crawl his way out from under Dameron to, instead, flop down onto his pull out bed.

“Such a lightweight, Red.” The tease came with a snort and a playful eyeroll as the pilot finally managed to push himself back up. He was, more or less, useless in this state. There’d be no convincing Hux of anything other than to let loose and have fun. Though, that was something that Poe was sure Armitage had never done, before. “When's the last time you drank like this? Ever just let go? Live in the moment?”

The frank answer was 'Never'. All his life, the redhead had been whipped into shape. Taught from childhood that falling and staying in line was the only path there was. He was trained - starting when he could barely walk - to always be in control of himself and others. Molded to be a weapon, not a human.

"Dunno," he slurred, then whined when Poe dropped onto the edge of his bed. "No! I cleaned t'is bed. Go find yer own."

With a long, drawn out groan - done purposefully, teasingly - Dameron leaned back until he was laying down with his arms stretched out as much as he could. Whether he was drunk, or it was the drinks taken in by the redhead, Poe was finding this recruit a lot more interesting since they passed the point of no return. “Should really consider joinin’. I’m tellin' you, you’ll love it here.”

"Why? Because a pretty pilot tells me so?" The ginger rolled onto his side, then fell onto his stomach.

“You think I’m pretty?”

"Pretty insufferable."

Dameron reluctantly pushed himself up after that, swaying for a moment before he deemed himself able to walk away. He wasn’t as far gone as Armitage was, which stood as a clear indication of who was the drinker and who wasn’t, so he knew it was his responsibility to, at the very least, take care of the potential recruit.

“Turn back onto your side. If you puke, you don’t wanna choke,” the pilot commanded, making his way into his kitchen to get Hux a glass of water to drink.

Never one to follow the orders of someone he deemed lesser than him, the Admiral opted to, instead, stand. It proved to be a terrible idea with how the world spun around him, but once his vision straightened out, he stumbled around until he caught his balance and managed to stay more or less upright. He was an Admiral. If he could shoulder the First Order, he could also bear the weight of being drunk.

Though he didn't remember how, Hux found himself looking at old music discs, brow furrowed as he took in the wear and tear that years had drawn in the dark material. "Wha's t'is?" He asked.

“Ey! Woah! Woah, no… No put that down.” Poe sat the glass of water onto the coffee table and anxiously took the record from Armitage’s grip. It was hard to come by and Dameron was getting tired of losing his records with each last second evacuation. “It’s called a record. Plays music when you put it on a record player.” A nod was given towards the item in question.

How primitive. The technology was dusty and clearly in need of an upgrade to something more modern and efficient. That is, why worry about giant music discs and their player, when a single innovation could store and play music in a compact, portable format?

Hux gazed down at the disc, reaching out to carefully run his fingertips over the grooves of it.

Tangible nostalgia.

"How does it work?" He asked the pilot, still not quite sure such a thing could produce music in any form. It was just a piece of plastic.

Poe frowned quite noticeably as he turned the record over and over in his grip. “You put it on the record player and turn it on…”

When that didn’t seem to click in the redhead’s mind, Dameron sighed and stepped passed Armitage to remove the current record off of the player. The one Hux had picked up and was fussing with was put down in the previous one’s place before the pilot turned it on. After a few scratchy sounds from the needle finding the groove, music began to drift out of the player.

That might have been impressive to a man who had never had a proper music device. To Hux, however, it came with the intrigue of someone walking through a museum.

A violin screeched to life, causing him to frown and step away - as though personally offended by the noise. "Oh," he offered, doing his best to not sway on his feet.

“Oh?” The repeated syllable came with a laugh from Dameron as he reached out to steady the potential recruit before he could go tumbling towards the ground. Not that he needed steadying - Hux seemed to right his misstep perfectly on his own. Still, Poe’s touch lingered. “Oh? Do you not hear how crisp the music cuts? It’s--It’s raw, it’s powerful, Red. It… You don’t get the sound muted and distorted by technology. It’s the best way to listen to music.”

As he spoke, the pilot’s head began bouncing back and forth in time to the beat, dark eyes fluttering shut as Dameron allowed the music to wash over him. “Close your eyes, Armitage. Listen to it. Feel it. Let it _consume_ you.”

Hux blankly stared at the pilot. Jade eyes like the first frost of winter as they cast their frozen gaze upon the man. Judgement, condescension. A grand many things that stemmed from a pretentious upbringing flurried in that gaze. "You're drunk."

Removing his steadying touch, the pilot harrumphed and watched as Armitage attempted to right himself, once more. "I'm sure that you're always this light on your feet, huh?" Dameron teased, before he stepped forward to wrap his arms around the lithe form.

"Are ye a-always so invasive?" Hux replied, a small hiccup interrupting him. "I can stand jus' fine," the ginger mumbled, hardly noticing the way they began to sway back and forth.

The strong arm that wrapped around a slender waist was entirely warranted, in Poe’s opinion. As was the way his hips began to jut more from side to side in emphasis to the song. If a tango started up, so be it. It truly had been too long since he had last danced with someone. “Let’s go, Hugs,” Poe challenged, purposely twisting the ginger’s surname to tease and annoy the other man - tugging at his ego in a way that he knew would get results. “Let’s see what you’ve got. I dare you to impress me.”

"Hux." The correction came in a huff as the intoxicated redhead found his footing, careful to not step on the other man's toes as they moved back and forth. Finding the beat, the rhythm, they moved.

The Admiral had a terrible weakness. He could not deny a challenge. He could not keep himself from rising to it. So, as he found his center, Armitage locked gazes with the other male.

A dance - not just to the music, in that moment, but something far more lethal between enemies. 

Each step was purposeful, each guiding movement held was a power struggle. Poe quickly, and easily, took the lead, directing his dance partner around the cramped space. A tanned hand reached for a pale one, holding it up beside them. The arm that had been slung around Armitage’s waist now tightened, with Poe’s hand gripping and bunching the thick fabric of the flight suit Hux still wore.

The music sang out all around them, allowing the Commander a chance to block out anything else that wasn’t involved in that very, exact moment.

It was raw. It was heated. It was passionate.

It was, admittedly, slightly awkward with the liquor coursing through their systems, but it was still a true tango at heart.

Step by step, they fell into a groove. There was tension between them. A fire that was unable to be snuffed out. But, the same flames that ignited aggression and opposition so often mingled with those that screamed of fatal attractions.

Like a flickering ember, the ginger refused to be put out and rejected a passive role in the drunken dance. Rather, he reignited himself as much as he could - matching the Commander in power and passion. They moved, bodies pressed close as they mirrored one another, worked with one another, built something together that no one else would ever know.

A dance.

And, there, locked away behind closed doors, the war faded for just a moment.

As the song neared its end, the Commander leaned forward to dip his partner. Their bodies arching in perfect opposition, but slotting together like well-fitting puzzle pieces. In a swell of passion from the dance and a crescendo of sound, Poe closed the distance between them.

No sooner did his lips drunkenly press over Hux’s did Dameron suddenly jerk back.

His action left Armitage suspended mid-air for all of a split second before the redhead went crashing down towards the unforgiving ground with Dameron standing there, wide-eyed and surprised at his own reaction to the dance.

“Fuck.” With that, the Commander disappeared back into the kitchen - steadying himself against the countertop to catch his breath and still his thudding heart.

Hux was used to roughness. He was used to hitting the ground in battle and having to dive out of the way of an attack. He was conditioned and reconditioned to put pain aside and just keep going. To numb his body and mind and focus only on completing his mission. But being dropped in the midst of a dance was not something he was prepared for, leaving him rubbing his head and grimacing from the impact.

Alone, the ginger picked himself up and ran the back of his hand over his lips in order to stop them from tingling. The only kiss that Hux was used to was the kiss of death. That coldness that overcame lips as the life drained from a man. A marriage with the afterlife that was reflected not with a ring around a finger, but a blue tinge overtaking what should have been pink.

For his lips to, instead, be warm left the Admiral scrambling for an explanation that made sense. Preferably one that didn't involve him being pressed against an enemy Commander in a brief moment of forgotten inhibitions and tempting passion.

Yet, there he sat, swearing to never drink, again.

\--//--//--

It took Dameron quite some time before he was able to push himself away from the counter, not due to the fact that he had been drinking or because he was out of breath from dancing (which was far from true), but because he wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to act, now, or what he was supposed to do. Planning - and for that matter, reacting rationally - was not an attribute of the pilot that people praised him for.

The kiss should not have taken place. It was simply a drunken mistake. Still, instead of returning to Armitage, Dameron took his glass of water and drank it on his way towards his bedroom. After rummaging around for some sleep attire for Hux to change into, the Commander returned to toss the clothes into Armitage’s lap. “I like to sleep with it real cold in here, so… You’d probably want to change into those.”

Hux barely felt the cold. After the storms of Arkanis and the chill of both space and the images that plagued his mind, a little air conditioning did little to send goosebumps down his spine. But, for the time being, the Admiral would accept putting the brush of lips behind them. Never speak of it, again - yet another thing to be forgotten come morning.


End file.
